


Crux

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Lucifer (Comic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the crux. This is where you make your choices, severally and separately. This is where you're launched on your final trajectories--to fall elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crux

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created by Neil Gaiman and expanded by Mike Carey in the "Lucifer" universe. I own absolutely nothing, and meant no harm when writing this story.   
>  Note: This takes place sometime during Lucifer: Morningstar, after Rudd accepts the Key, but prior to the attack on the Lilim.   
> A big thank you goes out to my fabulous betas: moontyger & voksen. You guys are amazing! 
> 
> Written for Karanguni

 

 

 

In the center of Hell, there is a tower carved from marble and glass, exquisitely adorned in silver. It is the highest point in Hell, the better to view the surrounding landscape with. Within the tower there are rooms, finite in capacity but endless in number, and it is within the largest room that the Lord of Hell broods.

He leans against the window, staring out across the plains of Hell. There are mountains in the distance, rust-red and carved from dust and bone, piled high with the memory of corpses. He imagines he can see the denizens of Hell below him, toiling in the fading light.

There is a knock at the door. He checks his pocketwatch: suppertime.

"Come in," he says, not bothering to turn from the window. The door creaks open wearily.

"You can't even be bothered to greet your guests yourself, now, Rudd?" Lucifer asks, sounding amused. He saunters into the room, closing the door behind him. "Are you _that_ important?"

Christopher Rudd turns around, surprised and embarrassed. "Lord Lucifer, I did not mean to—" He pauses when he realizes Lucifer is smiling. "I expected someone else. I apologize."

"No need, Rudd." Lucifer waves a hand dismissively, wandering around the room. He stops at Rudd's work desk, stuffed into a corner and piled high with paperwork and used candles. Lucifer turns, picking an apple from the basket that's sitting on the coffee table — it's there for decoration, since the dead lack the need for sustenance, but these things have never stopped Lucifer before — and sits down on the sofa. "I like what you've done with the place. It's so _Victorian_."

"What is it you want, Morningstar?" Rudd asks, agitated by his presence.

" _Want_?" Lucifer smiles like a snake, teeth glittering in the lamplight. "Why, Rudd? Are you implying you have something to _offer_ me?"

Rudd bristles, but manages to keep the heat from reaching his face. "I only meant to imply that I am _busy_ , and have other things to attend to. I'm amassing an _army_ , if you haven't noticed."

Lucifer takes a bite of the apple. "I noticed; I just didn't understand _why_." He chews thoughtfully. "No, I came here to ask about your decision, Rudd; about whether you'll march the hell-kin against the Lilim, as an ally of the Host."

Rudd sighs, wearily. "Lucifer, I have already told you — I cannot reverse my decisions at the drop of a feather, not even _yours_. I am an enemy of any God who condones, nay, _applauds_ the eternal suffering of his Creations, even if they _have_ committed wrong. It is vile, and treacherous. I won't be an ally of a tyrant."

"I'm not asking you to be His ally," Lucifer replies, calmly. "I'm asking you to hold the Lilim off long enough so that I can _do_ something."

"And what is it you intend to _do_ , exactly? Recreate the universe? Overwrite Yahweh's name with your own, to prevent Creation from collapsing?"

Lucifer shrugs and takes another bite of his apple. "That's a thought."

"Don't _toy_ with me, Morningstar," Rudd says, balling his hands into fists. "You have less of a plan than I do."

"Your plan is useless. You would storm the Silver City with the Lilim, destroying the Primum Mobile and negating all of Creation. And _then_ what? You wouldn't even be alive to savor your victory over the Host." Lucifer licks his lips, and sets the half-eaten apple on the glass top of the coffee table.

Rudd falls silent, furious. He turns away from Lucifer's smiling face, and glares out the window, scanning the empty horizon.

" _Oh_ ," Lucifer sighs softly, and there's a rustle of clothing and a squeak of protest from the sofa as he stands. "I see. You thought winning the war against the Host would make you ruler of _Heaven_ , as well as Hell. You're ambitious, Rudd."

"I thought no such thing." Rudd snaps, whirling to meet Lucifer's gaze, his eyes burning with hatred. "If I have any ambition at all, it's to _end_ this eon of tyranny and replace it with a system that's guided by some moral compass, some quantum of _justice_ that precludes the use of a man's soul as _currency_. I want to remove sadism as an option, Morningstar; no one should have the right to mine the physical pain of others as a source of pleasure for _themselves_."

Lucifer shrugs. "I'm not disagreeing with you, Rudd; quite the contrary. I understand your point — you want to usurp the Throne, and punish the Host for standing by and doing nothing while the citizens of Hell suffered unspeakable torment. _Fine_ , this is a noble ambition." Lucifer waves his hand dismissively. "But I'm telling you that unless you ally with Heaven and march against the Lilim, there will _be_ no Host for you to punish." Lucifer pauses, letting his words echo through the room. "Our goals don't have to be mutually exclusive, Rudd. Ally with Heaven and protect the Throne, so that you may give me time to save this Creation."

"For what _purpose_? So that I may endeavor to attack it later?" Rudd snarls, teeth snapping. "Or so that _Yahweh_ may return? I'm not _stupid_ , Lucifer."

"I can see that." Lucifer says, raising his hands in mock-defeat. "I assure you, Rudd, Yahweh has no intention of returning. If you buy me the time to save this Creation, it buys _you_ an opportunity to realize your dream... _without_ destroying the entire universe."

"Then tell me why I shouldn't wait for the Lilim to kill the Host, then kill the Lilim myself." Rudd says, crossing his arms.

Lucifer falls silent for a moment, surprised by Rudd's boldness. He shrugs again. "You could, if you wanted to. But you'll find you've greatly underestimated the Lilim. They are far greater in power and number than you think, and they _will_ overthrow you, unless you receive aid from the Host."

"So, ultimately, my only choice is to side with Heaven?" Rudd says, his voice harsh and angry. He sighs, exasperated, and turns away from Lucifer, shaking his head. "I cannot do it, Lucifer. I cannot go back on my word. What would I look like, as a Ruler of Hell, if I suddenly changed my mind and contradicted every single choice I've ever made? Can you imagine how that would _seem_?"

"I can't say I could."

Rudd whirls around with fire in his eyes, crossing the distance to Lucifer in a few strides, burying a fist in the Lightbringer's suit. "They would think I was subservient to _you_! As if you could walk in here, a place you _abandoned_. You _abdicated_ , Lucifer, or have you _forgotten_? You have no power here, and I am not swayed by your demands." Rudd's voice rises to a crescendo, breaking with a mixture of rage and fear. "I will _not_ bow down to you, Lucifer, I will not submit to you, as _you_ once submitted to _Him_!"

A silence falls, heavy and sudden. Lucifer gently pries Rudd's hand from his clothing, pulling each finger off one by one, and smoothing down his jacket afterwards. Rudd stares at him, seething, but terrified at the sudden realization of how closely his journey has paralleled Lucifer's. 

"It is hard, isn't it? Being the King of Hell." Lucifer says demurely, picking lint from his jacket. "Everyone plotting to overthrow you all the time, small gangs of demons who think that just _wishing_ your non-existence will make it happen. And it doesn't help that you were once human, that you were a citizen. It just proves to them that even the _lowest_ can rise to the top."

Rudd's eyes widen in surprise, but he regains his composure quickly, adopting an air of nonchalance.

"Are you going to be the pot or the kettle, Morningstar? You, the _first_ among all angels, the cream of the crop, one might say — and you _fell_. To this _pit_ , to the _bottom_." Rudd smiles, cruelly. "The metaphor works both ways, Lucifer."

"And look at me _now_." Lucifer matches his smile, kindly. "A _Creator_. Sometimes you have to fall before you can rise, Rudd."

Rudd gapes silently.

"But I think you're handling it pretty well." Lucifer continues, still smiling. "So far."

Rudd finds his momentum, the hatred burning in his veins. "Better than _you_. At least _I_ haven't given up and walked away."

"I grew weary." The smile fades, but Lucifer still looks unperturbed. "You would have, too, after ten billion years."

"I can't imagine what would tire you so, Morningstar." Rudd sneers, feeling he has the upper hand. "Ten billion years of ordering people to torture one another. I'm sure that was _exhausting_."

The corner of Lucifer's mouth twitches slightly downwards, and his eyes grow cold and dark. "I did not torture them, Rudd, they tortured _themselves_." His voice is calm, powerful. "I wanted a place to be independent from the Lord, I wanted a place of _solitude_. Instead _He_ turned it into a garbage dump, and designated to me the task of overseeing a masochist's paradise."

"But _you_ built Hell! _You_ built the torture chambers, the racks, the spikes upon which we were crucified. _You_ built the very machines that wrung the immortal agony from our souls and trapped our torment in powder. Hell _itself_ is a _sin_ , a machine whose sole purpose is torture, and _you built it_."

"No, Rudd." Lucifer is angry now, and the remnants of his Aspect come upon him. He looms, face dark and angry, his eyes burning. "I was cast out of Heaven, this much is true, but Hell formed _around_ me, by _His_ hand. I wanted to _escape_ His Creation, not rule some minor aspect of it. I never asked to preside over the demonkind; _they_ named me their Lord and Master." Lucifer waves a hand angrily. "And the humans — _your_ kind — I never asked to preside over _you_ , either."

"But you did, regardless," Rudd snaps. "You tortured us for years, just to satisfy your taste for _entertainment_."

Lucifer smiles, then, quiet and eerie, and it's so disconcerting that Rudd takes a step back, unsure.

"You have been dead a long time, Christopher Rudd." Lucifer says, conversationally. "For a human, you know so _little_ about your kind."

"You have no right—"

"How many centuries has it been, Rudd?" Lucifer asks. "How many millennia, since you _murdered_ an innocent child back on Earth?"

Rudd's mouth is dry and his vision blurs and he feels like his blood has frozen solid in his heart, so he doesn't recoil when Lucifer steps closer and rests a hand on his shoulder, like a friend.

"That's right. I may not have been the Ruler of Hell during your tenure here, but I _know_ what you did." Lucifer leans forward, and his breath is hot against the shell of Rudd's ear, his hair soft, like silk, against Rudd's cheek. "I _know_ how it felt to drive that blade home, how you imagined it was your unfaithful wife, and how you weren't sorry when you thought it was her. I _know_ how you weren't sorry for enacting your revenge, for causing someone who pained you, pain in turn, how the only thing you regretted was that you had to take a life so _young_."

Rudd gasps. "Stop—"

"I don't enjoy being cruel, Rudd." Lucifer says, as he pulls back and leaves Rudd to stand on his own, swaying uncertainly. "But you assume too much. I have never forced anyone's hand, I have never sat on their shoulder and whispered sweet nothings into their ears, encouraging them to commit sins. And I have _never_ owned or bartered the souls of men." Lucifer reaches out to adjust the collar of Rudd's shirt, professional and calm. "I have no use for them. That's _your_ devising, humanity's. What would I do with souls, anyway?" Lucifer smoothes down a wrinkle, and shrugs. "Humans are _masochists_ , Rudd, you should know. You blame me for all your shortcomings, for your moral failings and your little slip-ups. You _want_ to be punished for whatever law _you_ feel you've transgressed. You _want_ to be in Hell."

Lucifer rests his hand on Rudd's chest, his fingertips nestled against the stiff fabric of his shirt, where the Key to Hell lies. The Key is immaterial, formed from the ether on a whim, when Lucifer abdicated his rule and felt that the closure he craved was a literal one. It is the Key to all the Gates of Hell, though Hell has neither boundary nor form. 

Lucifer moves his hand upward, slowly, and Rudd stands frozen under his gaze, unable to pull away or speak. He runs his fingertips over the thick metal chain tenderly, feeling each link in turn. Lucifer lifts the Key, very gently, turning it over in his fingers and sighing as the Weight settles in his palm. 

"No one damned you to Hell, Christopher. Neither me nor the Almighty." He speaks softly, sadly. "That's a choice that _you_ made on your own."

Lucifer lets the Key fall back down, and suddenly, to Rudd, it seems to be much heavier than before. It settles against the chain, tugging his head downward, as if in defeat.

"Just as _you_ made the choices that lead to your coronation as King of Hell, Ruler of the Infernal Plains, Lord of the Dead and the Demonkind."

Lucifer turns, and walks toward the door, leaving Rudd staring after him blankly.

"Just as _you_ will make a decision about who to ally with, when it comes time for the hellkin to march."

Lucifer pauses, looking back over his shoulder.

"Choose _wisely_ , Christopher Rudd."

The door closes with a gentle creak, breaking Rudd's daze. He stumbles to the sofa and collapses against the cushions with a stifled sob, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

In front of him, sitting upon the coffee table, is a half-eaten apple.

 


End file.
